Forgive me and my procrastination; it's so much harder to blog than I thought! I keep ... putting off what I've written. Never mind, here's my Tuesday rambling.
With the long weekend over, it's a blah and boring day at work (but when is it not?). At least I have some good memories to keep me warm in this miserable weather. Apart from three hours at the doctor for x-rays on Friday, that is. See what happens when walking too quickly on slippery planks - in the rain, nogal. I saw my arse (hopefully none of the neighbours saw the spectacle).
Abel at work suggested I milk my injury for all it's worth; unfortunately, after the x-rays on Friday, not much to report; looks like I sprained a ligament, but thankfully no bone chips or anything requiring a brace. By Saturday, the anti-inflammatories and lovely, strong Synap Forte had done the trick. I limped a little throughout the shopping with Moosquared, but nothing too serious. Found her some comfy maternity jeans and trousers, and a gorgeous little grey jersey (if they'd had one in my size, I'd have bought it, maternity wear be damned!). Then she took me off to Haagen-Dazs to say thanks for dragging me to Sandton City. Holy cow! R85 for two scoops of ice-cream, a topping and a sauce? That's the price of a steak and chips! Or a three-course meal at Sogo, or three portions of crispy salmon skin at Benkei! And personally, I don't think the ice-cream is worth it. Bring on the Ben & Jerry's.
By the way, when cooking in a slow-cooker, disregard the instructions on liquid, especially when planning a stew. Covering the meat and veg meant we ended up with more of a lamb-and-sweet-potato soup. Ah well, it tasted good, and I don't think L-squared minded too much, but ... yeah. Not such a fan-freaking-tastic idea.
Sunday at the in-laws' house was more fun than expected (and also rather more, erm, toasty than expected), given the advent of a perky young 22-year-old speaking Polish, geeking out over sci-fi and loving Jay-Jays and the Doors. And drinking beer. Lots of beer. And wine. Hmm, yeah, bet I made the best of impressions there, but what the hell, even she didn't believe I'm almost 38! The ego, she is officially stroked.
Now if you'll excuse me, I believe there is a martini with my name all over it.